


Ignorance

by Dragonsquill (dragonsquill)



Series: A Company of Brothers [4]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Humor, Clueless Kili, Confused Kíli, Fili Fails, M/M, companion fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:08:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/pseuds/Dragonsquill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m talking about Fíli’s heart.  Only you can keep that safe.”</p><p>Kíli shifted and sat up straighter, turning his body to stare at his mother.  “Fíli’s heart?”  </p><p>“If anything happens to Thorin on this quest, it will fall on your brother to continue it.  And he will, out of loyalty to Thorin, to you, to our people.”  Dís straightened, took Kíli’s shoulders, and turned him fully to face her.  “If that happens, it will be up to you, my darling, to remind him of who he is.  Remind him that he is our Fíli before he belongs to anyone else, even the people of Erebor.”</p><p><i>This is the companion fic to</i> Arrogance, <i>revealing what was going through Kili's mind while Fili was being besotted and forgetting to mention it.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Erid Luin

**Author's Note:**

> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> This is Kili's companion story to my fic, _Arrogance_. At this point, it's not necessary to have read _Arrogance_ to follow the plot, but it will be as the story progresses. I don't want to retell Fili's point of view, so this is very much a companion story rather than a standalone.

Kíli was a great deal like his mother.

He looked like her, of course, having been born with the dark coloring and tall build of the line of Durin, along with the somewhat narrow frame. Their similarities went beyond appearances, however. Dís had the same steely resolve as their uncle, but hers was tempered with natural good humor that couldn’t be ground down by even the most difficult of circumstances. While Thorin was given at times to brooding silences, Dís always dusted off her hands and got to work. She preferred to stay moving and busy, rather than glaring gloomily into fires. She smiled easily, if perhaps laughed less so, and showed affection for her family and friends with open ease. Even Thorin didn’t try to dodge her determined embraces or affectionate teasing. Kíli’s spirit had a wilder edge to it, more energetic and less centered, but there was no denying that Kíli was Dís’s son.

Fíli looked like their father, who appeared in Kíli’s memories only as flashes and impressions; when they were out and about in the cities of Men, merchants sometimes thought Fíli was a cousin or a friend rather than a brother. His personality was a fair mix of family, though: he had Dís’s good humor, and their father’s clever sense of tactics, but could sometimes fall into brooding silences or flair with dangerous temper, not unlike Thorin. His confident strut and sly smirks were something all his own, a shade of which he had passed on to his little brother. 

Dís and Kíli only once discussed the shared understanding, developed as Kíli grew, that they had a strong responsibility toward their brothers. Thorin and Fíli could both be overprotective at times, crowding in their younger siblings’ space, barking when they thought little sister or little brother wasn’t taking proper care. They were all sharp edges and heavy responsibilities. Left to their own devices, Thorin’s strong sense of responsibility would cause him to fall so far into dark brooding that he would lose himself, and Fíli’s temper and over-confidence would eclipse his natural good sense and humor.

But they would never be alone. They would always have Dís and Kíli, to help ground them.

Three weeks before her family left Erid Luin, Dís sat down to have a talk with her younger son.

It had been awkward between them since Kíli had insisted on joining Thorin’s company over his mother’s objections. They hadn’t avoided each other so much as avoided talking about anything of consequence. Dís’s fear, so at odds with her usual centered ease, sparked in the air between them. Fíli felt it, too, but he distracted her with preparations and packing. Kíli, feeling a bit of a coward, followed his lead. At least, he did until the day Thorin took Fíli down to the forges beneath Thorin’s Halls and Dís joined Kíli at the archery range for the first time in nearly a year.

Dís and Vavi had both been archers. It was how they’d met, competing with each other as young dwarves during the wandering, members of different hunting groups that built up a friendly rivalry. She’d been thrilled when she saw signs in Kíli that he might make a good archer one day. Dís had been the first to put a bow in his hand, to teach him how to draw his bowstring and let fly. She’d helped him cut and fletch arrows, make targets, clean his first kills. Even as he began to strike out on his own and train with other archers, they still enjoyed hunting or practicing together, playfully attempting to one-up each other. While Fíli and Thorin did know the basics of the bow, the weapon was truly something shared between Dís and Kíli.

He knew he would miss her every time he drew back, every time feathers caressed his cheek.

He told her so, that afternoon, after an hour of smiles and laughter that broke through the quiet concern that had overtaken his mother in the last months. 

Dís smiled. “I know, my love,” she answered, and tugged him down to bump his forehead against her own. She was not much shorter than him, standing between his height and Fíli’s. “Come on. It’s time we had a talk.”

She led him to her quarters inside the mountain. They were on the same royal hall as the rooms he shared with Fíli, near Thorin. He always felt a bit out of place in her mountain rooms; some part of him still expected to find her in the cottage he’d grown up in, tucked at the base of the mountain while it was restored. The royal family had been one of the last to move in; the first residence halls opened had been given to the miners. 

She had sweetbreads ready and brewed rich, dark tea. They sat for some time at her table and talked as if the last ten months hadn’t happened, as if they hadn’t tiptoed around each other after a lifetime of ease. The time came, though, when Dís came to the point, as she always did.

“I want you to have this,” she said, and held out to him a smooth black stone inlaid with runes. “Your father made it for me, when his family decided to remain in the Iron Hills under King Dain.” At Kíli’s look of surprise, she laughed softly. “Vavi wasn’t yet seventy, and we thought four years apart would be an eternity. He gave me this to remind me of a promise as we wandered again. They were hard years, but we were never in great danger.” She reached across and uncurled Kíli’s fingers, laying the stone on his palm. “He left his family the day after his full coming-of-age and struck out after our caravan. Even Thorin couldn’t argue against our marriage when he showed up hungry, dirty, and alone after several months on the road. He looked like a half-starved wolf, but he marched right up to Thrain and asked for my hand. A very stubborn man, your father.”

Kíli laughed. “So it _does_ come from both sides of the family!”

“Aye, you and your brother never had a chance.” Dís smiled softly. “We didn’t speak enough of your father as you were growing up. The pain was too fresh. I regret that now. We might have helped you hold on to memories if we’d spoken of him more.” Kíli shook his head, and would have argued – though the words were true, and he’d thought them enough himself when he was younger – but she squeezed his wrist. “When you carry this, Kíli, I want you to know that it carries not just my love, but that of your father.” She paused. “And of your brother.”

“Fíli knows you’re giving this to me?” She nodded. Kíli smiled and ran his fingers over the smooth surface, along the dips of the runes. “What did you promise Father?”

“To wait for him to come to me. As if I needed a stone to remember,” her tone was wry but infinitely fond. “Vavi was also a bit of a sentimentalist. Your brother inherited that.”

Kíli grinned, thinking of Fíli’s supposedly secret attachment to any trinket Kíli made him, then sobered. “What would you have me promise, in return for your protection?” he asked softly.

Dís was silent for a long moment. For once, Kíli sat quietly and let her work through what she wanted to say. “I know what I want you to promise,” she finally said, and cupped his hand in both of hers, tracing her thumbs along his fingers. “I want you to promise to stay safe. To have an utterly uneventful journey with a dead dragon at the end. To come home my same sweet, noisy boy you’ve always been.” She sighed, but it wasn’t entirely sad. There was humor there as well. “But I can’t ask for that. So instead, I ask this:

“I want your pledge that you will think before you act. You can be reckless, my darling, acting on emotion without thought. Your instincts are good, and it’s right for you to depend on them, but don’t follow them blindly. Use your mind as well as your heart, and follow both back to me, when the time comes.”

Kíli bent forward, bowing his head before his mother. He lifted his hand to press a light kiss to her work-worn fingers, so different from those of any princess of Erebor who had come before. “I promise,” he said.

She tightened her fingers around his hand before letting go. “That’s my good boy.” There was a hint of laughter in her eyes, the blue from her mother’s line, like Fíli and Thorin, when he rolled his own at being called a “boy.” 

Kíli took the stone and tucked it carefully into the small purse at his waist; he would sew a proper inner pocket for it that night, into the tunic he would wear for the quest. She would insist on helping him with it, though his stitching was almost as good as hers. “You do know I didn’t really intend to run around inviting danger and asking for injuries before you made me promise,” he said, with a flash of a grin. “I don’t need Thorin lecturing me at every turn.”

“A promise to your mother is more binding than a promise to yourself,” she answered, also smiling. She moved to refill his mug, and he knew she had more to say to him. “There is one other thing I’d like to talk to you about.”

Kíli added honey to his tea before testing the temperature and taking a sip. Dwarves steeped tea longer than Men, until it had a bitter aftertaste that settled pleasantly on the back of the tongue. This brew was one of his mother’s design, with a dash of cinnamon. “I’d guessed as much. You’re not much of one for baking unless there’s going to be at least an hour of solid talking to go along with it.”

Dís snorted, an indelicate sound that suited her perfectly. There was nothing delicate about Dís, despite her relatively thin frame. “It’s about your brother.”

“Fíli?” he asked, as if he had another brother somewhere they’d both forgotten about it. “What about him?”

Dís fussed with her own tea before sitting down again, beside, instead of across, from him this time. Their shoulders pressed together as she stretched her legs out under the table. “I want you to keep an eye on him.”

Kíli let out a burst of laughter before he could stop himself. “You know he won’t give me a choice! He’s going to be underfoot every minute, making sure to keep an eye on me!” 

“True enough,” she agreed, “though we both know you’re not much better. That’s not precisely what I meant, though.” She swirled a spoon around her tea, thoughtfully. “Of course I expect you to keep each other safe. You’re to keep an eye on the horizon while he watches under your feet, as you always have. Don’t think I didn’t notice how the two of you have been training together the last few years.” She tapped the spoon twice against the edge of her mug, and then flicked it onto the table. “It was a good idea, with the way your skills complement each other. But I didn’t need to tell you that. No one’s ever had to tell either of you to keep an eye on the other when there’s any chance of danger around.”

Kíli made an agreeable sort of noise. Such was the nature of siblings, at least among Dwarves. 

“No. I need you to . . .” her voice trailed off, then came back stronger, determined. It was the voice she used when dealing with recalcitrant merchants and difficult guildsmen. “The entire Company, Thorin especially, will work to keep your brother safe. You’ll all be protecting each other, because it’s the best and only way to survive. So, that’s not what I’m talking about.

“I’m talking about Fíli’s heart, Kíli. Only you can keep that safe.”

Kíli shifted and sat up straighter, turning his head to stare at her profile. “Fíli’s heart?” His brows drew together in a frown. 

Dís continued to gaze ahead at the wall, sipping her tea. “We’ve never put it into words, Kíli, what our roles will be if Thorin does retake Erebor and become King of the Mountain. What it has been, all these years, with our king and prince without a kingdom. 

“Thorin has always expected the world of Fíli. You as well, I know, but not to the same extent. Our father was much the same. He would never have accepted anything but the best from me or Frerin, but always he demanded even more of Thorin. He wasn’t cruel, or heartless. He loved us all. He simply expected as much from Thorin as he expected from himself.” She sighed and lowered the mug with a soft click against the stone tabletop. “In many ways, Thorin has held himself back in his treatment of both of you. He loves you both deeply, whether you know it or not, and didn’t want to chance Fíli being burdened as he was at such a young age.”

Kíli knew Thorin loved his nephews. If he had been their father, he couldn’t have loved them more. The fierce protectiveness he afforded their mother he gave also to his sister-sons. When he made Fíli his heir, and after Fíli, Kíli, Thorin had sworn that no one could usurp them; even if Thorin was to marry, which was hard to imagine, and father children, they would not overtake Fíli and Kíli as Thorin’s heirs. That Thorin struggled to put such things into words didn’t bother Kíli, though he suspected it might be more of an issue for his brother. Fíli was good with people, but struggled to understand them in ways that Kíli didn’t. “I know,” he said carefully. “But what does that have to do with Fíli’s heart? Do you think he doesn’t know?”

“I think he knows. Fíli is more clever than is good for him sometimes. But I’m afraid that . . .” Dís leaned a bit against her son, slipping her arm through his. “You will both come back from this journey changed. You will be men, adventurers, who have faced hardship and become stronger for it. There will be darkness on this quest, madness and danger.” Her voice took on a cadence Kíli had never heard before, a depth of knowledge that sent shivers down his spine. He lowered his cheek against her hair in an odd reversal of so many nights in his childhood, curled against his mother’s side as she told him stories of heroes and history. “I know you. You will hold true to yourself no matter what life throws at you. In that way, you are so very much my son, and your father’s.

“But Fíli is more like Thorin, more like Thrain and Thror. He could lose himself – could lose our sarcastic, overprotective, smiling Fíli – to Crown Prince Fíli, First Heir of Erebor.”

Kíli froze, a breath skipping in his chest. 

“If anything happens to Thorin on this quest, it will fall on your brother to continue it. And he will, out of loyalty to Thorin, to you, to our people.” Dís straightened, took Kíli’s shoulders, and turned him to face her. “If that happens, it will be up to you, my darling, to remind him of who he is. Remind him to laugh. Remind him to breathe. Remind him to create. Remind him that he is _our Fíli_ before he belongs to anyone else, even the people of Erebor.”

Kíli closed his eyes a moment, hiding from the image of Fíli – his brother, his favored companion – without his smirks and swagger, without his brash voice and mischievous humor. 

He imagined Fíli more like Thorin.

He wondered, at the pain in his mother’s voice, if maybe Fíli was more like Thorin than he thought. Not Thorin now, but Thorin as he once was – Thorin with a home, and a mother, and a little brother of his own.

Fingers stroked the hair beside his right cheek, tucking it neatly behind his ear. “Kíli? Do you understand?”

Kíli opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said, and he did, better than he ever had before.

Dís smiled at him. It was a warm smile, _their_ smile, not tight or worried anymore. “Good.” She tucked the hair back on the other side as well. “He’s going to brood a bit on this quest, anyway. He has been . . .” her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and he thought for a moment she might not finish whatever this last thought was. “He’s been thinking about something. Something important.” At Kíli’s frown, she smiled reassuringly. “Don’t fuss so, it’s something that makes him happy, and he’s not keeping it from you. He’ll tell you about it soon.” 

Dís lowered her hands, gathering the two empty mugs and crossing to the sink. She lowered them in with a soft clatter. 

“. . . Amad?” Kíli asked, his heart hammering. 

“Yes?”

“Will . . . will Fíli be all right?”

Fíli had to be all right. Nothing else was acceptable.

“Of course!” Dís’s eyes were soft and honest, and Fíli’s dimple appeared as she offered him a warm smile. “You’ll be there to help him.” She crossed the room and leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll take care of each other, as you always have. Don’t worry. I have a lecture planned for your brother as well.” She stroked a hand through his hair, and then chuckled when she immediately hit a snarl. She apologized at his wince and glare. “Just follow your heart, Kíli, when the time comes.”

Kíli tilted her head out of his reach, but he knew already that he hadn’t moved fast enough. “Yes, Amad,” he answered, distracted. If he didn’t change the subject quickly, or find something important to do, she was going to-

“Now let’s see what we can do about your hair.”

Kíli sighed. Youngest member of the company or no, he was a dwarf, full-grown. He didn’t need his mother _brushing his hair._

Of course he let her. It would be far too long before she could once again practice curses in Khuzdul against his tangles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love! This fic is here because of all the lovely people who took time to read and comment on Arrogance. Thank you for making writing such a joy for me again.
> 
> This story is completely outlined but not completely flashed out - updates will come every couple of days instead of daily as I go back and rework/edit/add in/etc. It will combine fluff and angst in the same way as its predecessor, though clearly it will, ah, lack some of the romantic tension...since you know how that will end. Whoops.
> 
> _In Chapter Two: The boys arrive at Hobbiton, where the locals are beardless, friendly, and a little freaked out. They're also extremely cute. Kili must resist the urge to pat their cheeks._


	2. Shire

Kíli thought the Shire was beautiful.

It wasn’t beautiful in a way Thorin would appreciate, or Dwalin, or the miners who worked inside the Blue Mountains. There were no thick veins of iron, no great forges, no sweeping columns of stone. The beauty of the Shire was more natural. It spread out before them, emerald hills and dirt paths peppered with round doors in bright colors. Flowers bloomed _everywhere_. Crops grew in abundance. There were little fences with gates that stood open so often that they hung crooked, covered in climbing vines and sweet-smelling honeysuckle. They invited visitors in rather than keeping them at bay. There was an innocence about the place that made Kíli smile broadly, hands on his hips as he took in a deep breath of clean air.

“At least they have the sense to live underground,” Fíli said, and Kíli cuffed his arm. Kíli’s brother had no sense of beauty at all. “What? They do!”

“We knew that, though. Gandalf said to find the green door in the hill, because they live in holes.”

Fíli snorted. “Like rabbits.”

Kíli rolled his eyes. “Or like _dwarves._ ”

“Dwarves don’t live in _holes_ ,” Fíli argued, horrified as any well-bred dwarf would be. “We live in _mountains._ ”

“Yes. In deep, dark holes inside mountains,” Kíli returned easily. He did not always act like a well-bred dwarf. He slung an arm across Fíli’s shoulders. “Come on. We’re hours early, yet. Maybe there’s an inn or pub nearby.”

The brothers had both been surprised when first Dwalin, and then Balin, had separated from them during the journey to the Shire, where the entire Company would come together at the house of a Hobbit. Gandalf had assured them that a Hobbit was just what they needed to steal from a dragon’s hoard, should said dragon still be inconveniently living. The four of them had set out together from Thorin’s Halls, and the princes had assumed they would be in for a long, overprotective journey filled with impromptu history lessons and late-night weapons training. Instead, Dwalin had parted from them first, heading west toward a village where he would pick up two more pack ponies for the quest. Balin left not long after, going to check in on his apprentice’s family to make sure there was nothing else they needed for the trip. The sons of Fundin had double-checked their map, made sure they knew the way, and told them to keep a close eye on each other. 

And they were on their own.

It was the second major surprise of the journey, though it wouldn’t be the last. The first was Thorin’s going to a meeting of their kin, in a last-ditch effort to garner support, without dragging Fíli along. Most kings among dwarves brought along a Consort or Heir to such meetings; Thorin had elected to take Dís. 

“Thorin wants to establish that Mother will be in command of Thorin’s Halls while we’re away,” Fíli said when Kíli questioned the choice. “He wants her officially recognized as Regent.”

“Or Thorin didn’t want us there where Amad threatens his life, limb, and manhood if he doesn’t keep an eye on us every second,” Kíli offered. Fíli admitted there was some merit in the idea.

So the brothers went from assuming they would arrive in a group consisting of, at the very least, Thorin, Dwalin, Balin, and themselves, and quite likely Ori and his brothers, to a pair. Though they’d gone on their share of hunting excursions without watchful older eyes, they’d not expected to be trusted with a trip of several weeks without elders over their shoulders. 

If perhaps it added a little swagger to both their steps, they could surely be forgiven.

They squabbled a bit over how best to locate somewhere to relax and get an ale before settling on _asking for directions_. This led to a second minor altercation, in whispered tones, over which brother should approach an actual Hobbit and ask for information. Kíli maintained that Fíli would come strolling up, in his Fíli way, covered in weapons and looking like a cat staring at a songbird, and scare the Hobbits off. They’d heard that Hobbits were bunny-like in more than their architectural habits. Fíli retorted that Kíli was likely to get over-excited and bowl one of the halflings over, inciting a diplomatic incident and possibly getting himself arrested.

They were briefly distracted by chortles over a bunny-like Hobbit attempting to arrest a well-armed Dwarf. 

In the end, they entered the outskirts of Hobbiton together, where they found a dust-encrusted farmer kneeling among some sort of vegetables. He had a wide, floppy hat and light-colored clothes that didn’t cover a number of important bits – neck and ankles were completely bare. He’d be cut down in five seconds in a proper fight. His hair was cut scandalously short and, as advertised, he had _no beard._

At least, Kíli though it was a he. He was so _little_ and the _hair_ and the _cheeks_ , he looked more like a dwarfling than a male or female full-grown. 

“Excuse me,” Fíli said in what he probably thought was a polite tone, but which came out slightly impatient. Kíli elbowed him and received a bewildered look in response. Kili sometimes despaired that his brother honestly didn’t know how he presented himself. 

The Hobbit straightened without looking up, pulling a cloth from his pocket to wipe at his hands. “Aye, lad, what can I do for-” he looked up then, and his mouth fell open in, “-you?” The last word came out as a bit of a squeak.

Kíli took over. He offered a genuine, winning smile to the odd-but-cute creature. “We have an appointment in Hobbiton tonight,” he said, “but we’re early. And thirsty.” He sketched a little bow. The Hobbit looked utterly bewildered. (What, did they not bow? How rude.) “We were wondering if you could direct us to an inn or pub?”

The Hobbit stared at them a bit longer, gobsmacked. Kíli began to wonder if he had something on his face. They’d washed up last night, in preparation of their arrival. Even his clothes were fresh and clean. No blood anywhere, he was sure of it. “Ah,” he managed in a strangled sort of way. “There’s the Green Dragon, but you’d be-that is-there wouldn’t be any-” The Hobbit waved his hands in a flustered sort of way, then grabbed at the floppy hat and pulled it off, twisting it with nervous fingers.

Hobbits had broad, pointed ears tucked neatly against the side of their heads and half-hidden by curls. Kíli felt a ridiculous stab of disappointment that the ears weren’t a bit more rabbit-like. 

“Wouldn’t be any what?” Fíli asked curiously, rocking back on his heels a bit. “Beer?”

“No. No, there’d be beer. And ale.” There was a flash of pride as the Hobbit said, “Best in the farthing, in fact. But there’d be no other . . .” his voice trailed off again. “Dwarves?” It was obviously a question.

“Oh! Oh, right.” Kíli grinned again. “We weren’t really expecting any, though that’s bound to change by tonight.” Then his smile faltered. “Do…Hobbit pubs not serve Dwarves?” Gandalf had said Hobbits were a warm and giving people, but maybe that was only amongst themselves. They certainly lived alone, tucked away with the Rangers keeping an eye out for interlopers.

The Hobbit straightened his back and lifted his pointy little chin with adorable consternation. It made Kíli want to pat his soft, round cheek. “No Hobbit would be so rude as to refuse to serve a visitor to the Shire!” he announced.

“Then there’s no problem,” Fíli said decisively. “Which way is it?”

The Hobbit babbled some directions, using landmarks they’d never heard of. Kíli asked for clarification while Fíli stood tapping his foot. Once Kíli felt they could at least get close enough to the Green Dragon (and really, the _name_ ), he thanked the Hobbit politely and they headed down the little lane into Hobbiton proper.

They passed a number of Hobbits. They were an odd people, all curly haired and barefoot – and what feet! As with Men, the way they dressed very clearly separated the males from females, and males seemed to insist on cutting their hair quite short. “Their necks must get cold,” Kíli commented, and Fíli rolled his eyes. 

They were a basically friendly people, if somewhat nervous at the sight of two dwarves. They flittered and fluttered but all smiled and greeted the passers-by. Their voices sounded high and odd to Kíli’s ears, the males’ voices sounding like females, the females like children, but it didn’t grate on his nerves. Their voices suited them, a bit musical, a bit innocent. Several asked if they were lost (probably a fair assumption, seeing as they’d apparently never seen dwarves in these parts before), and politely gave better directions to the Green Dragon than their first Hobbitish helper. 

If they immediately started hopping over hedges and whispering madly in the princes’ wake, Kíli wouldn’t really blame them. Gossip was clearly a universal trait.

Near the pub they saw their first wee hobbits. Hobbitlings? Kíli didn’t know how old they were, but they came about thigh-high and giggled a great deal as they darted from one bush to another. They clearly thought they were being sneaky, so he didn’t let on that he saw them. He couldn’t stop his occasional chuckles at their loud whispering and shrill, muffled cries of delight, though. 

Fíli played along as well, though he occasionally jumped and spun, glaring narrow-eyed into a bush filled with hobbitlings as if he’d just heard something strange. He would take a few steps backward before facing front and shrugging. 

“Problem, Fíli?” Kíli asked with a fond grin. His brother had always been good with dwarflings, and Kíli found the whole production fairly adorable.

“Suppose I’m hearing things, Kíli,” Fíli answered in his most serious voice, and whispers erupted. Oh, they’re called Fíli and Kíli! The dwarves have _names_! Just like Hobbits! Or, they’re brothers! They have _brothers_ , just like Hobbits! Or, they’re going to the Dragon! They drink _ale_! Just like Hobbits!

The general consensus among the hobbitlings by the time they reached the pub appeared to be that dwarves were basically very hairy hobbits in heavy boots. They were also clearly impressed by Fíli’s mustache, which Kíli appreciated, since it was his work. He puffed his chest a bit, playfully, making his brother shake his head and smile.

The Green Dragon looked much like the alehouses Kíli and Fíli had been in during visits to villages of Men, only it was Hobbit-sized instead of Man-sized, which Kíli greatly appreciated. Hobbit-sized was roughly dwarf-sized, perhaps a bit on the small side – “For me,” Kíli said with a grin, elbowing his brother sharply in the side, “just right for _you_ ” - and Fíli tripped him into a thorny rosebush by the pub’s entrance before swaggering confidently inside. 

The plump, pink-faced owner was obviously shocked but solicitous, bringing out ham and rolls along with a rich, dark ale that took both dwarves by surprise.

“How are you still standing?!” Kíli yelped after a gulp. 

Laughter broke out all over the room, and the tension that had settled over the locals dissipated. Merry voices began to call out, and three more outgoing Hobbits, one female and two males, sat right down at Fíli and Kíli’s table. Introductions were made, and Kíli fell into a comfortable argument with one named Proudfoot (why they all had a second name he wasn’t clear on; Thorin’s was given to him by his troops after battle. Did they all earn one in adulthood? If so, how did you end up with _Proudfoot_? Or _Boggins_? Was their burglar fond of swamps?) about pipe weed, which was apparently a love shared by Hobbits and Dwarves. 

Kíli glanced over to see Fíli smiling as he handed his pipe to a gray-haired female, who studied it with the careful consideration of a connoisseur before stuffing it with a local weed and giving it back with an imperious air that would have put Thorin to shame. His brother looked relaxed and content despite the unusual surroundings, his eyes warm as they met Kíli’s over the brief flash of flame he used to light the weed. It wasn’t his usual smirk, the one that had dragged them into a handful of brawls at the inns of Men ( _“What’re you lookin’ at, Dwarf?”_ sneered over too much ale) or the wide, toothy grin that heralded his sudden lunge forward on the hunt or in battle. It was just . . . quiet, and pleased with the situation and, Kíli fancied, with his little brother’s companionship. Something warm and proud unfurled in Kíli’s belly.

_Remind him that he is our Fíli before he belongs to anyone else, even the people of Erebor._

Kíli grinned back. Fíli was his responsibility. He’d make sure nothing happened to that smile under his watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had any artistic talent at all (or, you know, had talent that I had carefully honed through exhaustive practice my entire life, which is how it really works), I would draw the bit with Fili walking backwards, glaring at fauntling-filled bushes while Kili tries not to laugh. BB hobbits, frozen in giggling wonder at the big, bad dwarf. 
> 
> _In Chapter Three: Camping, rain, Ori, and on-the-road battle training._


	3. Camp

Kíli had always had an unusual affinity for sleeping under the stars.

Perhaps this was because he’d spent the first decade of his life traveling, though it certainly hadn’t affected all his age-mates that way. Ori, who was nearly a decade older than Fíli, preferred a nice cabin (even to the mountain), and Gimli, one of the first born in the Blue Mountains, grumbled every time he had to set foot outside the halls. Kíli didn’t mind living in the mountain. He and Fíli had established space for themselves there, and so it felt like home. Sometimes, though, he wanted to get out in the fresh air, hunt, start a fire, gaze up at the stars. There was something calm and soothing about the night sky. It was cold and distant, untouchable, but it held stories and light when the world lay silent and still around him.

Right at the moment, however, Kíli was done with stars.

He was done with fires, and stew, and bedrolls, and snoring.

And he was very, very done with _rain._

It had been raining for days. Days. And Days. And Days.

 _Only three days,_ Fíli would correct him if he said anything out loud. But three days of nonstop rain was obviously equal to at least triple that in normal days. Anyone with sense could see that. It wasn’t Kíli’s fault Fíli didn’t have any and never had and went around smirking and being amused when clearly the world was a horrible, horrible place full of rain.

Fíli was just smug because Kíli, being a good and loving younger brother, had tied his hair back in a high ponytail and it stayed there. Kíli’s was a sopping mess all over his face. _Of course._

At least Ori agreed with him about the rain.

“What happened to your oilskin?” Kíli asked as he drew his pony up beside the scribe’s. Kíli and Ori had known each other for two decades or so, since Balin had taken Ori on as an additional student. Ori was fifteen years older than Kíli, but by the time they met they were considered age-mates. Balin often taught them in the same room, though not purposefully the same thing; they were both curious by nature, though, so there’d always been some overflow between them.

Ori huffed and motioned to his saddlebag. His fine new oilskin, one of thirteen his oldest brother made for the party, was wrapped tightly around it while Ori depended on his knit sweater, which must weight twenty pounds with water at this point. “My supplies,” he said. “I know the bag’s supposed to be waterproof, and the box sealed but…” he shrugged a bit sheepishly. “My books.”

Kíli laughed, but not cruelly. He stretched a foot to poke Ori’s leg. “You can borrow mine. My coat’s fairly waterproof anyway.”

Ori smiled back, but huffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re the fourth person trying to foist his cape off on me because I’m too paranoid for my supplies.”

“Dori and Nori?”

Ori nodded. “And Dwalin.”

Kíli’s eyebrows rose and he looked to the front of their caravan. Dwalin was, as usual, right on Thorin’s heels. Fíli was riding near the front as well, chatting with their uncle and Balin. Kíli knew Thorin had been keeping Fíli closer the last few years, but he hadn’t seen it in action – it had been a sort of distant idea that they talked of over dinner. Seeing it was different. Fíli seemed older somehow, and more remote. Five years in the life of a dwarf was nothing; siblings only remembered such miniscule distinctions because it suited them to do so. Kíli didn’t like the feeling of distance between them. 

How could he keep an eye on Fíli if Fíli insisted on wandering off? 

He shook his head sharply and looked back at Ori, who was watching him with a patient, if bemused, expression. He was used to Kíli’s wandering thoughts. “Dwalin tried to give you his cape?”

Ori shrugged, and then sighed. “You’d think I was a decade younger than you and Fíli, and not the other way around, the way I’m coddled on this trip.”

Kíli made a thoughtful noise. Ori certainly did have to deal with an unusual amount of mothering. Dori had strong paternal instincts when it came to his brother – not a surprise, since he’d raised Ori from a babe – but in all truth, Nori wasn’t much better. Though he chastised their eldest brother for hovering too much, Nori always kept a sharp eye on Ori as well, and they tended to hem him in when they settled by the fire at night (when they _had_ a fire, when it wasn’t _raining_ ). And now he had Dwalin henning over him? Kíli never thought he’d see the day. 

“If we wanted to be treated like adults,” Kíli said with a sound that was as much a good-natured laugh as a sigh, “we should have left our brothers at home.”

Ori made a derisive noise. He’d let the reins go – his placid pony would follow the others without direction – and started fiddling with the pony’s mane. The need to keep his hands busy was something Ori and Kíli had in common, though they went about it in very different ways. “Good luck with that. I was the one actually invited along. Dori insisted on coming because I was going, and then Nori . . .” he let the words trail off and looked over his shoulder in the direction of his middle brother. Nori was riding in silence, his sharp eyes covering the caravan in sharp sweeps. “Well.”

“Well,” Kíli agreed, since he knew of the deal that had brought Nori on the road instead of in the dungeons beneath the Hall. 

“Though he’d probably have signed up anyway, to keep an eye on me and Dori.”

Kíli rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I might have made a pest of myself to come, too. Thorin only asked Fíli originally. Mother wanted me to stay home, but . . .” it was his turn to leave things unsaid, instead looking again to the front of the line. Fíli was listening to Thorin now, occasionally nodding in agreement.

“Not surprising,” Ori agreed, “but they couldn’t honestly think you’d stay behind. You and Fíli aren’t like the rest of us.”

Kíli looked at his friend with a frown. “What does that mean?” He didn’t want this to be about being Thorin’s heir. Kíli couldn’t honestly think of himself as an heir, since the only way he would become king was . . . no. It didn’t bear thinking about, so he didn’t. He had a different role to play when they reclaimed Erebor. One that suited him better.

“Well, you’re brothers, of course, but you’re not,” Ori tugged at a braid, searching for words. “You’re not like the rest of us.”

“What does _that_ mean?!” he repeated, bristling a bit. “We’re as much brothers as the rest of you lot!”

Ori jumped a little at the prince’s vehemence. “Of course you are! But you’re...more…” he threw his hands up. “Dori raised me. He’s more like my mother than anything else, so that’s how he sees me. And Nori was near 50 when I was born, and went through a lot to keep us fed and safe, so he sees me more as a father or uncle. Because of that, they’re both half-convinced I’m still a dwarfling missing half my teeth. Balin and Dwalin act like especially close friends and comrades. Bofur and Bombur treat each other more like, I don’t know, regular brothers. Brothers who are also good friends. You and Fíli are _different_.” He bit his lip at Kíli’s disgruntled expression, but the prince gave him a moment to organize his thoughts.

“It’s not a bad thing, Kíli. It’s just…the two of you are brothers, but you’re also friends and comrades. You act as…as two parts of one person, sometimes. He acts protective of you, but when we actually have to train or fight or hunt, he absolutely trusts you to keep him and yourself safe. You work together in a way that’s different from anyone else I’ve ever known.” He shrugged with a frustrated grimace, not used to having trouble expressing himself. “It’s a good thing. I can’t help but be a little envious of it. No one’s ever looked at me like Fíli looks at you, or trusted me like Fíli trusts you.”

Kíli felt his neck warm, and his ears. Two parts of one person? He and Fíli? They were princes, and they were brothers, and they were companions. Perhaps they _were_ closer than other siblings, born so close together. Something in his chest tightened, then released, curling out into the familiar warmth that only came out when Fíli was being especially himself. 

Fíli trusted him.

“We should start training every night,” he said aloud.

“Training?”

“Sure. With your slingshot, though you know more about that than I do. And Fíli and I could help you with some basic knife or sword drills.” Kíli looked Ori over thoughtfully. “It’d be good for you to be able to fight better, and it’d get your brothers off your back for a couple of hours each night. Plus, they’d feel more comfortable with your being out here.”

Ori scratched at his long nose. If it wasn’t for that horrendous haircut, he’d be quite the looker. The haircut and his natural reticence kept him from knowing it, though. “I’ve never been very good with weapons.”

Kíli looked up at a soft, familiar clucking noise and found that Fíli had fallen back to join them. His heart gave an odd little thump. His elder brother had pushed off the hood of his oilskin and tucked it tight around his neck. His hair had darkened to a rich honey-brown, his lips curved into a familiar smile, and he had a rare, soft look in his eyes – he looked ridiculously handsome and relaxed. Kíli suspected _he_ looked like a half-drowned and particularly depressed puppy. 

It was a bane of Kíli’s life that he was so very often compared to puppies.

“Only because you haven’t trained a lot,” Fíli said to Ori. _Eavesdropper._ “I’ve seen your calligraphy. You have steady hands. Kíli’s right-”

“Make a note!” Kíli burst out with a grin. “He said it! He admitted it! Where’s your trip journal?” He easily dodged the playful palm that rose to slap the back of his head, twisting effortlessly in the saddle as if he was just leaning over to poke at Ori’s bag rather than avoiding a brotherly assault.

Ori made a sort of flourishing motion with one hand over the other, miming a note. Kíli grinned at him.

“Kíli’s right,” Fíli tried again, tossing his head a bit and ignoring his brother’s antics. “One reason they worry over you is because, out of all of us, you have the least training. Maybe they’ll relax some if you’re at least competent.”

Kíli winced a bit at Fíli’s wording, but Ori took it for what he meant. He tugged at one braid, muttering to himself when the wet ribbon slid out in his hand. “All right,” he agreed. “Just don’t hit my hands.”

Fíli smirked at him. “Don’t worry, we’ll aim for your pretty face. Maybe then Dwalin will stop looking over his shoulder back here.”

Ori snapped the ribbon at him.

\----

The rain finally let up a few hours later. A ragged – if tentative – cheer went up from the party, and Thorin astonished everyone by calling for an early camp. Spare tunics were drawn out of bags. Clothes were stripped and hung in the trees – Kíli found himself being sent up several until Mr. Baggins volunteered to help. The Hobbit climbed like a squirrel! Kíli could just toss everything up and Mr. Baggins would spread it neatly on a branch, working around leaves and twigs until they were nearly as straight as they would be on his line at home.

It was not the most dignified group of dwarves around the campfire that night, but bare legs and feet were preferable to feeling like you were underwater. 

At least they looked a bit better than Mister Baggins who, having not brought along a waterproof sack (or oilskin, or anything else particularly useful), ended up being more or less bullied into a spare tunic of Bofur’s. Thorin made some noises about getting “the burglar” proper supplies if they ever passed through a village. Bofur’s tunic hung almost to the Hobbit’s hairy ankles and made him look like a boy in his father’s old shirt. Mister Baggins took the resultant teasing with some jumpy blushing, but eventually gave them all a huff and eye roll that appeared to indicate acceptance. 

He was learning. Kíli reminded himself to make a point to ride next to him and chat a while tomorrow. He liked Mr. Baggins – once you got him to relax, he had a sharp tongue and told great stories. He knew grand adventures he’d read in books, but he could also make a dwarf fall off his pony laughing by crossly describing his extended family. 

Kíli sometimes barely held back his apparently inborn desire to pat hobbits on the cheek when Mr. Baggins really got going.

If only Mr. Baggins didn’t shut down when Thorin stared back at him. Thorin didn’t mean anything by it. He was worried about keeping the Hobbit safe. Kíli’d been at the business end of that glare often enough before he’d convinced his uncle that years of weapons training and missions with Dwalin meant he could take care of himself. Maybe they should consider asking Mr. Baggins if he’d like some basic defense training as well.

Kíli glanced in his brother’s direction. Fíli was glancing back, obviously checking on him. Sigh. Curing Uncle Thorin of his overprotective glares was one thing; Fíli was incurable. 

Fíli settled in front of him shortly after dinner – a hot dinner, and wasn’t that a nice change – and Kíli put his brother’s braids to rights as they discussed a training schedule for Ori and whether or not to approach Mr. Baggins. Kíli had always liked braiding. Fíli’s braids had been the first task he had taken on that meant working with his hands. The delicate strands, wild on their own, slid together to create something utilitarian and beautiful at once. It had been the basis for his decision to specialize in leatherwork and fine metal carving. 

Kíli put in the basic braids while they talked – the two First Heir braids in the front, line of Durin behind – then the clasp that matched his own. He was dividing all of Fíli’s hair into three thick sections when the Dwarf in question popped up.

“I’m sitting with you,” Ori announced, making himself at home beside Fíli. 

Fíli snorted. “Hiding from someone, Ori? Maybe two someones?”

“I’m not hiding,” Ori protested. “Everyone can see where I am, _including_ Dori and Nori, who apparently think I’m going to melt if they don’t wrap me in every damp blanket they can find.” He shot an exasperated look across the camp. Deprived of his presence, the elder brothers Ri had started sniping at each other in a practiced sort of way. “I’m just interested in starting my training.”

“We’ll begin now,” Fíli said, in that decisive “The Decision Has Been Made” Durin voice. The fact that it had all been Kíli’s idea in the first place and that Ori had been the one to show up and suggest they get started didn’t come in to it. Kíli gave the last braid a sharp little tug in retaliation, but was fairly sure the message was lost on his brother. Since all of Fíli’s hair together was too large for a clasp, Kíli tied it off with a strip of leather he carried in his pocket for just such an occasion.

In truth, he always fancied Fíli’s hair pulled back, the small braids helping to anchor the larger one. It reminded him of days at the forge, when Fíli could still take on projects and work late until Kíli was sent to fetch him. A younger, freer Fíli, obsessing over this or that. _His_ Fíli, as their mother had said. The thought that Fíli could still look and feel that way because of Kíli’s presence made his fingers and toes feel warm.

That had been happening a lot lately. 

“Dori will stare at us the whole time and probably rearrange your nose if Ori manages to hurt himself,” Kíli said cheerfully. He shoved at Ori to help him up.

Ori sighed. “I’m not going to hurt myself. I’ve been shooting a slingshot since I was fifty.”

“I’ll tell him to hit Kili’s instead,” Fíli said as he stood and stretched. Neither prince mentioned that waiting until he was fifty to pick up a weapon set Ori pretty far behind most dwarves. He tossed a smirk over his shoulder. “If he hits it hard enough, he might flatten it out a bit. Do your looks a world of good.”

Kíli threw the comb at his brother as he and Ori jumped to their feet. He thoroughly deserved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Stone giants, a ledge, fear, and failure


	4. Ledge

Kili failed.

In one terrible moment, he failed. More completely than he’d imagined possible. 

_You’ll all be protecting each other, because it’s the best and only way to survive._

Best and only way.

_Kili! Take my hand!_

Mountains didn’t move. They were _mountains._ Men sneered about how Dwarves were as _immovable as the mountain._ Stubborn, stone-fast. The wind and icy rain had been a danger, but not the ledge. Dwarves were steady, their feet called to stone. They wouldn’t fall. As long as someone kept a hand on their hobbit, they’d be safe.

And then-

The mountain broke, cracked, split-

“Fili!” 

Panic, blinding, and he couldn’t move, not even when Fili reached for him.

“Kili! Take my hand!”

And Kili was too slow. Fast, clever Kili, too quick for a dwarf, and he didn’t catch his brother soon enough. Fili was whisked away, along with nearly half their party, torn out of sight. In the moment when Fili needed him most, Kili froze.

_Take my hand!_

He’d never wondered what his last words with his brother would be. Though he knew death could be very close and very real – raised by a widow, in dangerous times – he was young, so he'd never considered it. Dwalin, maybe, even Thorin, but not-

_Take my hand!_

The words echoed and ricocheted as their own ledge began to move, as even solid dwarven feet scrambled and slid across the wet stone. Thorin was shouting, they were all grabbing on to each other as his uncle lurched forward.

“Run!”

Kili obeyed that voice without thinking, as he had always obeyed it.

Running.

A leap over empty space and solid rock under his feet again.

“Fili,” Kili ground out, hearing an echo of pain from Bifur, from Dori and Nori.

“Jump!” Thorin bellowed. Kili’s mind whirled. Jump? Again? But Thorin was shouting at the others, not him, furious, running and slipping, his axe gripped in both hands. Kili had never seen him so graceless. Nor did his own feet seem to obey him. He felt Nori grab him by the coat at least twice and shove him at the sheer stone wall. “Do it!”

The stone giant fell.

Time twisted. It happened _so fast_ , one breath there and the next gone, yet at the same time so slowly that Kili saw every bit of fear and frustration on his brother’s face. Felt Fili calling out – _Hang on to each other!_ -even though he couldn’t hear him. Saw Fili’s hands grab for the others, trying to keep them linked together.

 _If anything happens to Thorin on this quest, it will fall on your brother to continue it_. 

_No one's ever trusted me like Fíli trusts you._

The stone giant crashed into the mountain.

Thorin’s shout of pain and fear tore out over the storm, and over the battle. Nori and Dori shared a scream; Bifur roared defiance in a dead and broken language.

But Kili only whispered his brother’s name.

\---

“It’s all right! They’re alive!”

Gloin’s voice rumbled down the line. Kili felt his hands grab something – Nori’s coat - felt a wild laugh in his chest that passed through his arms and into the older dwarf. “Alive!” Nori shouted. He gave Kili a quick little shake. “Alive!” Nori’s always steady hands were shaking, and Kili felt the echo of Nori’s screams in his ears; Ori’s name, over and over, until his voice was hoarse. 

Kili wanted to run ahead, wanted to see for himself, but he couldn’t. The ledge was barely wide enough for the term now, and he was the final dwarf in line. The others were shuffling forward, pressing together – Kili’s nose was deep in Nori’s hair for a moment – but then they came to a stop.

Words and phrases came to Kili’s ears in pieces, random snatches that flew at him on the wind. Bilbo’s name, Thorin’s, Ori’s. Everyone was shoving and he caught sight of Bilbo’s bright coat – was that over the side? Then Thorin’s mail, everyone scrambling. Kili growled under his breath and gripped at the wall and Dori, who was pushing away from the rock and into whipping air in a desperate and dangerous attempt to see after he heard Ori’s name. 

“We nearly lost the Hobbit!” Oin shouted back at them, “And then Thorin! But all’s well!”

“There’s a cave!” Bofur’s voice, with an undercurrent of almost mad laughter. “A cave in the mountain!”

They shuffled forward.

When Kili saw his brother again (had it been only _minutes_?) Fili was planting his feet and pulling Bombur up. He looked . . . he looked _fine_. Wet, but otherwise unruffled. He smiled at Bombur when the cook thanked him, clapped Bofur and then Ori on the shoulders. 

Kili stumbled.

_Kili! Grab my hand!_

A rock turned under his foot and twisted his ankle in a brief stab of pain, but Kili pushed forward, jumped, and reached out with both hands. 

His fingers wrapped around Fili’s, mismatched callouses catching – an archer’s, a swordsman's – and Kili stared at his brother, panting.

Something dark rose and then fractured in Fili’s face. Fili tugged, and Kili stumbled a graceless step forward. “Kili,” he said, “Brother,” but there was something else, another name that caught on his tongue and didn’t get past his lips, and Kili didn’t know what it _was_ , “I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

Kili scowled darkly. “Your hands-” he said, but he didn’t know how to finish what he was thinking. Kili didn’t struggle with words, but how could he say _I never want to let go of your hand again, never, not as long as I live, I’ll never stop hearing your voice in my head, telling me to take it, I’ll never forgive myself for letting go, luck shouldn’t save you when I’m here to do it._

So he said nothing.

Fili smiled at him. Not a smirk, or a grin, but a bare lift of the edges of his mouth. “Come inside,” he said. “They’ll want us to check the back of the caves. You know the old young eyes excuse.”

Kili nodded, his eyes steady on Fili’s face as his brother turned and tugged him inside through the stone arch.

They slept beside each other as they always did, tucked close for warmth. If Fili thought it strange that his brother immediately reached out and laced their fingers together, Fili’s right, Kili’s left, then tucked the joined palms between them with dogged determination, he didn’t say anything. He only wished Kili pleasant dreams, his lips and beard brushing feather-light against Kili’s knuckles.

When the floor opened beneath them, and they fell into the darkness, Kili didn’t let go of his brother’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: Mirkwood, Apathy, Spiders, and Fear
> 
> While the Shire chapter is my favorite in this story, I rather like how this one came out. :)


	5. Mirkwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to enrapturedreader and maisierita. They are wonderful people who always take the time to leave a comment. I hope they know how much that means to me!

Kíli hated the Mirkwood.

It was worse than Thorin’s stories. Thorin had always focused on the elves: their smug superiority, their immortality, their open disregard for struggling allies, and their separation form mere mortal beings. He’d never spoken at length of the Greenwood, beyond dismissively referring to it as “another bug-filled forest.” Like most of the older dwarves, Thorin had little patience for the outdoors, preferring deep tunnels under the earth. 

Kíli, however, had missed days darting among the trees with his brother and his bow, without having to mount a full hunting expedition since they moved into the mountain. He knew that, to some degree, the chance to travel through woods and cities was one of the reasons he had been so determined to go on this quest. Not the most important reason, not by far, but it was part of his insistence on being included. 

He’d had more than one chance to regret that decision. 

Well. Not to regret. If Kíli was not on this quest, then he would be back home, worrying. The only thing worse than nearly falling off battling mountains or fighting hoards of goblins would be sitting at home, blissfully unaware of what was happening to his uncle and brother – which meant his daydreams and nightmares would have taken up the slack. He didn’t know what his imagination would have cooked up, but it didn’t bear thinking about. 

The goblins’ hole had been the worst, he thought. Before he could recover from the giants they were thrown into darkness and noise, violence and threats at every turn. Only a few hours before, he’d been convinced his brother was dead. He spent that horrible hour in the cave convinced they all were, or as good as. He’d scrambled and fought, fallen and grabbed, and tried desperately to stay as close to Fíli as possible even as they were torn apart at every turn.

The Mirkwood, though . . . it was worse.

His mind wandered. He couldn’t focus. If Fíli was more himself – though none of them were themselves, not one – he would no doubt have made some crack about this being Kíli’s normal state of being – Are you with us, Brother? You seem to still be at least one village over. 

But Fíli was not himself. 

He’d been acting a bit strangely since the quest began, sticking closer than normal, fussing more than Kíli needed (not that he minded, not really; he blamed it on the fact that they were on a quest far from home, and he couldn’t deny his own need to keep Fíli in sight, not since the mountain), then abruptly relaxing and smiling at Kíli without any of the sharp edges he was used to. But here in the Mirkwood, Fíli rarely spoke, and certainly didn’t make any light-hearted comments at his brother’s idiosyncrasies. He meandered by Kíli’s side, staring into space with a blank, bemused sort of expression. Their hands brushed, flashes of warmth in the deepening chill. Occasionally, he’d rub at his chest, as if it hurt, which would make Kíli’s heart skip and thump with worry. He didn’t think Fíli was hiding injuries from him, but he couldn’t be sure; his brother sometimes overemphasized the older part of their relationship, and he might not want Kíli to worry. Kíli’s hands itched to run over Fíli’s chest and arms, just to make sure he wasn’t keeping secrets under his tunic and coat. Yet, Kíli couldn’t make himself reach out.

There were tussles sometimes, in the gloom, which came from nowhere. One broke out between Fíli and Ori – Kíli wasn’t sure why, he couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to follow what was said, and he really couldn’t imagine the two of them going at it in normal circumstances – but it somehow ended with Kíli and Nori being peeled off each other by Thorin and Dwalin, respectively. Kíli was enraged while it happened, his vision painted red with fury, but all his anger melted away and was replaced by that horrible _blankness_ the moment Thorin set him back on his feet.

Kíli _felt_ things. Everything. Dwarves weren’t a reserved race, but Kíli knew he was seen as a bit _too much_ even among his own people. This void of emotion released a strange, gibbering terror in his belly that he’d never felt before, while at the same time making him completely incapable of showing it. He thought he might retch, if they’d had any food in the last few days. Hours? Weeks? He had no idea how long it had been since the ravine, when they’d lost the road.

Fíli wandered ahead of him, just out of reach, and suddenly he couldn’t stand that. Here he could see him, but seeing him didn’t mean anything. Nothing meant anything, in the murky and tepid forest where everything looked dead but was somehow living. 

_This forest feels sick_ , Bilbo had said. 

He pushed his body _hard_ , the body he’d trained all his life, the body that arced and turned on light feet, the body that lined up shots and protected everything he held dear. He forced and drove harder than he ever had in his life, so much that his legs shook as if he’d spent three hours in training with his brother – _Fíli kneeling in front of him, shot after shot over the golden head, then Fíli’s wild battle cry, his feral leap into attack that seemed so random but Kíli always sensed it, felt it down in his bones and never came close to letting an arrow fly with Fíli in his sights._ And all for five steps.

He slipped his hand in Fíli’s with a deep sigh of utter exhaustion.

Fíli didn’t react at first, which ratcheted up the clenching in his belly. In this situation, Fíli would be channeling their mother, just-this-side of annoying as he worried over Kíli’s safety. He didn’t fuss as Dori fussed, with waving hands and soothing shushes, or as Thorin fussed, with growls and glares at anything that might cause his family distress. Instead, he should be crowding Kíli, taking a bit more than his allotted space, double-checking the younger dwarf’s bow and arrows, the sheath of his sword, even though they both knew Kíli kept his weapons in excellent condition. He should be smirking and teasing even as his hands double-checked buckles and traced leather seams. His eyes should be more serious than his mouth, in a failed attempt to keep his concern hidden away. 

That Kíli had gone so far as to hold his hand and Fíli just stared forward, was more unsettling than their gray surroundings and shuffling feet.

_Kíli! Grab my hand!_

Was this how Fíli felt when Kíli let him go?

 _“Fíli,”_ Kíli said, his voice rough as if he’d been coughing or screaming for days, when really they’d been largely silent. 

Fíli’s hand jerked, and then the strong fingers tightened. His brows drew slowly together – so slowly, with Kíli stumbling and staring just to catch it – and his head turned. Kíli noted on some level that his brother’s braids were a mess. He’d never allowed Fíli to look so disheveled. “Kíli,” Fíli said, in a thick voice like he’d burned his tongue. 

Kíli thought he managed a smile. “Hey.”

Fíli jerked his arm a little, tugging Kíli closer. “Stick close,” he ordered, and some of the fear in Kíli’s chest unraveled at the familiar protectiveness of it. 

Several breaths passed. Bilbo was talking in front of them, something about circles, but all of Kíli’s concentration was focused on keeping his hand from falling out of Fíli’s. “You’re the one wandering ahead,” he forced out in a pitiful shadow of humor. The others were stopping, milling around in strange circles. The brothers couldn’t stop their plodding momentum in time and bumped into Dori and Bofur. The older dwarves didn’t react.

Fíli’s grip tightened, and then shifted. He let go and Kíli nearly cried out, grabbed for him, growled at him – but then Fíli’s arm was around his waist, gripping hard. Kíli sighed into it, his body curving to lean against Fíli’s shorter, stockier one. It still seemed strange to him, sometimes, looking down to see Fíli’s amused eyes and dimpled smirks. He remembered clambering on Fíli’s back and demanding to be carried around the markets of Men, of dreaming that one day he would be as tall as his great big brother and finally beat him in a fair fight. “I hate it here,” he muttered.

“Stick close,” Fíli said again. That _something new and strange_ from the cave trembled below his flat and exhausted voice, but Kíli’s mind was too fractured to identify it. “I will not be parted from you.” 

But he was, when the spiders came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, spiders and captives, enter the elves
> 
> Another short and introspective chapter, but there's some more dialogue, action, and elves upcoming!
> 
> _Is it just me, or was the movie Mirkwood scarier than the book? Absolute blackness is pretty bad, but that weird fugue state they were all in seems worse...especially if you stretch it out over a few weeks._


	6. Clearing

When Kíli set out with his brother from Erid Luin, he’d been confident in their ability to handle the quest and anything it could dish out to him. There’d been concerns about the _dragon_ , of course, but from what their elders said, it sounded as if most of them were optimistic that the beast was dead. Nothing could live without food for sixty years, nearly Kíli’s entire lifespan. Besides, he had Fíli at his side. Kíli had never been truly afraid with Fíli crouched at his feet or standing at his back, swords in both hands and bristling with weapons. 

In the depths of the Mirkwood, surrounded by glaring elves and chittering spiders, Kíli felt like a very young and foolish dwarf, indeed. 

They’d been taken unaware, so very easily. One moment they’d all been standing under Bilbo’s tree, looking dazedly up at the Hobbit’s rising feet, and the next Fíli’s hand was ripped from his waist as Kíli was tossed in the air. Loud skittering cries and his companions’ low grunts of surprise were abruptly cut off as Kíli’s face and ears were wrapped in silk.

His heart pounded in sudden, suffocating panic.

He had never been so alone.

Dwarves lived communally. Certainly when he was very small, when Thorin’s people were still wandering, he was never alone. All adult dwarves kept a sharp eye on children out in the world of Men. But even since they came to the Blue Mountains and built first their cottages, and then moved into the slowly restored halls, dwarves still lived, bathed, and ate as a group. When Kíli moved from his mothers’ home to his new quarters near Thorin’s Hall, Fíli went with him. When he went into the villages of Men to barter or find work, Thorin or Fíli was always at his side. At the range, his mother was always there, or Fíli since he had decided they needed to train together. When we woke in the morning, when he went to bed at night, there was always-

Fíli.

_Fíli._

Where was Fíli? He’d been right _there_ and so suddenly gone. 

Kíli thrashed as the spider wrapped him, but it did no good. His covered mouth and nose labored to let in air, and his head spun. When he tried to call out for his brother, or uncle, or _anyone_ from the company, he choked on fine-spun strands and coughed, making his lungs all the more desperate for a decent breath. Spots danced across his vision until he hung panting in the air, furious and helpless. All around him he heard grunts and cries, thrashing bodies; but gradually the sounds died out, until it was quiet save his own shallow breaths and the strange clicking of the giant spiders.

\------

The abrupt fall to the ground, slamming into soft and familiar bodies, came as a blessed relief. 

The company fought their way free of the webs. Hands gripped at his and pulled, he didn’t know whose, and someone had a knife that struggled to slice his feet free as the webbing swirled around it and blunted the blade. Everyone was shouting – _Dori! Balin! Bifur! Oin!_ – and then

“Kíli!” 

Kíli struggled to his feet, grabbed at an offered hand – Gloin’s, he thought – and his eyes darted in search of his brother. Fíli was several dwarves away, his hair and furs sticky and white with webbing, but he threw Kíli a bewildered grin from his place at their uncle’s side. “Fíli!” Kíli called back, waving. He started to make his way over to them, only to trip over Dwalin, still wrapped tightly, and Ori, struggling to tear at the slippery strands with his mittened hands. Kíli drew the small knife from his boot – an archer he may be, but no brother of Fíli, son of Vavi, went around without a few hidden surprises – and knelt to help their scribe free their warrior. 

They were all there, and safe. Standing on somewhat higher ground than the others, Kíli found himself reciting Gandalf’s annoying checklist, organized by family group, tapping off on his fingers. They were all here, save-

“Where’s Bilbo?” Bofur’s voice was sharp with alarm.

Panicked searching fell into desperate fighting when the spiders returned. 

Kíli drew his sword and started slashing almost blindly in the murky light. His shoulders ached, and the way he was moving was all wrong – he hadn’t focused enough lately on training on his own. He’d been training to fight as a pair, and he knew he kept leaving his back wide open as if he’d suddenly feel the fur of his brother’s coat pressing against his neck. He aimed too high, left his knees vulnerable as well. He tried to think back to his earlier training, to the constant circles Thorin and Fíli used. He spun awkwardly, only to be knocked on his back by one of the beasts. He thrust upward wildly, burying his sword so deep in the thing’s chest that blood gushed over the hilt and he couldn’t pull it back out before it scuttled up and off of him, taking the weapon with it.

Kíli leapt to his feet, threw the knife from his boot and the even smaller one from his bracers into the spider’s head, but another was upon him before he could get the weapons back. Desperate, he resorted to nails and fists. He felt as if a part of himself lay back in the forest somewhere, along with the bow his mother had fashioned for him for his coming of age. She’d carved runes of protection in the grip, and Kíli’s sigil, and Fíli’s. Kíli had never asked why Fíli’s mark needed to decorate the curve of his bow, because he’d never needed to. Most of Fíli’s knives had his younger brother’s mark in the handles: a reminder, to keep each other safe.

_You’ll all be protecting each other, because it’s the best and only way to survive._

_Survive._

He was failing again. As he had on the ledge. He couldn’t keep anyone safe with his bare hands. He wasn’t Dwalin, or Thorin, or even Dori. Everything became a mad rush of spiders and legs, chittering and grunts, cries of pain and cries of triumph. Instinct, built up over all their shared training, made Kíli claw and shove his way toward his brother’s untamed shouts and his uncle's low growls. He felt overwhelmed, and furious, and terrified, and strangely confident, and all the emotions that the Mirkwood had leeched from him however long they had been wandering. He needed an anchor, something to focus on.

A spider nearly struck him from behind. His brother’s voice saved him, and then his brother’s swords struck down two of its back legs.

His anchor. Always.

“Fí-”

The elves appeared as abruptly as the spiders had, and they effectively cut Kíli off from the rest of the Company.

\--------

The elf-maid who saved him (she was most certainly a maid, even in her odd elven armor), was . . . magnificent. 

She moved like water, all rushing air and sharp turns. When she drew her bow – such _stillness_ , such _concentration_ as he had never seen, but only for a split second before she was moving again with a sword in hand. For most of Kíli’s life, he had been deemed too thin and too fast for a dwarf – not solid like Gloin, or thick in the shoulders and limbs like Bifur. He shimmied up trees and out windows with ease, but fell behind his age-mates in basic strength drills and exercises. The way he moved had frustrated Dwalin before Dís had taken him under her wing as an archer. He was lighter on his feet than most dwarves, quicker with his hands. Yet, he had nothing on this elf, who danced across trees and spiders and left desolation in her wake. She was not anything like the gliding, fanciful elves of Rivendell. She was _dangerous._

He demanded a dagger of her, but she gave him nothing – save his life, of course, and a smirk.

With the last of the spiders dispatched, another elf stepped close and shoved Kíli toward his companions. He stumbled gratefully against Fíli’s side even as he stared wide eyed at the array of bows and archers surrounding them. So many archers! All so dark, so focused, every one deadly. What must it be like, to be an archer among elves? To wield a bow as a favored weapon, instead of being reminded on a regular basis that the sword comes first and the bow second?

A dozen archers kept them surrounded, arrows carefully pointed at the dwarves and not at each other, their hands steady and distant gazes set. The dwarves stood frozen in place as the blond who was caressing Thorin’s sword barked orders in the elven language. More elves closed in on the dwarves, and Kíli felt, for the first time since he was a dwarfling, very _small_. 

Kíli watched the elves as the Company was searched and all their weapons removed. The blond was clearly in charge, but the she-elf who had saved Kíli also gave orders. The others looked to both of them more than once, though interestingly, it was the she-elf who seems to tell them what to do. She must be . . . a captain of some sort? Second-in-command to the blond? Not unlike Fíli’s role in their own Company. 

One elf spent an inordinate amount of time stripping Fíli of his weapons. The arrival of the elves had lifted some of the fugue around the Company, whether from the adrenaline rush of the fight or the elves themselves, and Fíli was all rolling eyes and scoffing lips again. He actually offered the two off his belt – to distract their captors from searching him, Kíli supposed. The elf’s thin eyebrows rose in increasing alarm as he pulled two knives from under the fur of Fíli’s collar, one from each wrist, from both boots. When Fíli opened his coat and arms in an “all done” gesture (looking _utterly smug_ in a way that was very _Fíli_ and also very likely to get him hurt if he didn’t tone it down, _Mahal_ he never learned) the elf scowled darkly and slid a knife – was that from his brother’s _hair_? Kíli had never made a sheath to go _there_ – and Fíli sucked on his teeth, annoyed. He hadn’t done that for years, and Kíli felt a bubble of relieved laughter at the old sound.

When they were led forward, into the dark, Fíli was distinctly pouting.

Considering he still had, by Kíli’s count, a rather large dagger inside his coat, the pouting might have been a bit exaggerated. Kíli bumped their shoulders anyway, just for a show of solidarity.


	7. Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was written about a week before _Battles of Brothers_ even existed. And yet...here we are. Annoying elves.

Thorin didn’t need to give the order for all of the dwarves to know it:

Annoy the elves.

Thorin did this by glowering and stomping and generally being as _dwarvish_ as possible. When they asked him questions, he would lift his chin and refuse to reply. When they pushed against his shoulder, he stood like stone. When he did deign to speak – once or twice to the blond who now had Orcrist at his waist, the twiggy thief – he did so in a low growl that sounded as much wolf as dwarf. 

The rest of the company was a bit more vocal in their mission to get on the elves’ nerves.

Dori gave the elf shoving Ori around a long and creative tongue-lashing while Ori, to Kíli’s surprise and amusement, completely played along by pulling on his ribboned braids, biting his lip, and looking generally pitiful. Kíli though he should probably take notes from both of them. 

Nori openly and blatantly pick-pocketed the elves, getting caught, as far as Kíli could tell, every time. Though, of course, he could very well be robbing them blind of small items every time they caught him with a large one. He focused pretty heavily on the guards around his brothers, though one moment found him whistling to himself with Orcrist over his shoulder. The blond elf moved further up the line after that incident.

Dwalin muscled his way over by Ori and hovered around him, looking as threatening as possible. He kept cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms in a way that made every heavy cord of muscle stand out. Though he was half the elves’ size, he still looked intimidating.

Oin kept shouting questions about the elves and the ridiculous architecture and were they going to get dinner?, which Gloin answered in bellows and with . . . creative language choices (especially after the blond insulted his wife and son). Kíli hadn’t known he had such a talent for description. Perhaps he should consider writing some bawdy poetry.

Bombur was puffing along like he was about to pass out and couldn’t outrun the rest of the dwarves combined, while Bofur fluttered around him looking terribly concerned and calling the elves brutes for mistreating his brother so. At one point Bombur went down in a spectacular roll that held them up for some minutes while three elves struggled to hoist him back to his feet. Weaklings. Bifur . . . well, Bifur acted like Bifur, glaring and muttering in Khuzdul, his eyes a bit wild beneath the axe. He was talking about butterflies, but the elves wouldn’t know that. 

Bifur was quite fond of butterflies.

Balin either missed the silent order or just didn’t want to play along, so he only looked disapproving and long-suffering as Fíli and Kíli mused aloud about the ugly architecture and conjectured mating habits of blond elves who petted swords in inappropriate ways. The fact that their knowledge of mating habits came entirely from half-heard barroom conversations and instructional run-ins with wildlife did nothing to curb their imaginative enthusiasm. In fact, it quite possibly made their rambling conversation even worse.

“That’s enough!” Balin hissed at them as they were taken over a spindly looking bridge to the elves’…village? Keep? Treehouse? Kíli didn’t know the proper term. “We don’t need to antagonize them!”

“Why not?” Kíli asked.

“They’re certainly antagonizing _me_ ,” Fíli agreed. “And look at Ori.”

“Poor, sweet, innocent Ori.” Kíli laid it on thick, just enjoying a moment where he felt like _himself_ and Fíli felt like _Fíli_. It had been too long since they had joined forces in something other than fighting orcs or goblins.

Fíli tried for wide-eyed innocence but, as usual, it came out as a sort of startled expression. Amateur. “We thought you _liked_ Ori, Balin. He’s _your_ assistant.”

Kíli nodded serious agreement. “You should go help-”

“-defend his honor.”

“I never thought I’d see the day Balin, son of Fundin, would leave the job of defending his assistant from brutish elves-”

“-to his baby brother.”

They tsked.

Balin ground his teeth. He _hated_ it when they finished each other’s sentences. Kíli’d always suspected half of the reason Thorin had taken over Fíli’s lessons was because Balin was indulgent with one or the other, but lost patience with the pair. “You do not have arrows and swords to point back at them,” he grumped.

Fíli smirked, but Kíli wilted. Fíli may still have that one knife in his coat, but Kíli’s bow was probably lost to him forever. He felt naked without it strapped to his back or firm in his hands.

An arm squeezed his waist. The weight was a bit unfamiliar – Fíli usually slung his arm across Kíli’s shoulders, despite his actions in the Mirkwood - but not unwelcome. “When we get out of here,” Fíli murmured, for their ears alone, “we’ll get a bow back in your hands. It shouldn’t be too hard stealing one from an elf while he’s off picking out the splinters after shagging a tree.”

Kíli laughed. He wouldn’t mind getting his hands on one of the elves’ bows, though he did wonder if he could handle it. He didn’t worry about having the strength to draw it – dwarves were stronger than elves – but the size would be unwieldy at best. Still, better than no bow at all. 

His gaze wandered to the back of the group. The red-haired she-elf was in the rear, her eyes wary and watchful. Her bow was a bit shorter than some of the others, elegantly curved. He thought of her fierce eyes and smirking lips, how even the fall of her hair seemed to slow when she set up her shot. It reminded him in some ways of the afternoon her spent in Rivendell, comparing techniques with the merry elves there. But they were so tame compared to these wood elves, and it was that fierceness in battle that itched under his skin and reminded him of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Her lips parted and she called out an order in their odd, flat language. It lacked the deep emotion and fierce pride of Khuzdul, but he supposed it did have a sort of musical quality. In response, the elves around them started moving the dwarves about, separating them into a line. 

Fíli snarled at the elf who gripped his shoulder and pulled him away, his hand clenching hard at Kíli’s hip. In that moment he looked as feral as he did in battle, and Kíli’s heart sped up in an instinctive fight-or-flight response. Kíli grabbed at his wrist and squeezed it once – _calm down, brother_ \- before they were separated. There were shouts of anger and resistance up and down the line, but they were eventually reorganized and led up a narrow staircase. Kíli ended up behind Fíli, in the middle of the line. He could see his brother pushing on his toes and peering forward, trying to keep an eye on their uncle at the front. When Thorin was led to the right and the next in line – Dwalin, of course – to the left, Fíli let out a growling shout. 

Thorin turned at the top of the stairs and made a movement in Iglishmêk – _Elf King_ – before he straightened his shoulders, smoothed his stride from that of a petulant dwarf to that of a king, and followed the blond under a wooden archway. Fíli lowered himself from his toes, but his shoulders remained tense. Since this journey had begun, Thorin had rarely been out of sight. He kept Balin, Dwalin, and Fíli close, and had been extending that to Kíli and Bilbo in the last weeks. Kíli tried to reach out and touch the knotted muscles of his brother’s back, but they were kept too far apart.

He didn’t like seeing Fíli upset, and not being able to do anything about it.

_I want you to keep an eye on him._

_I’m doing my best,_ he thought, suddenly very tired. His mother certainly hadn’t set any small task in front of him.

The elves led them down, and Kíli heard mutterings among the company about _dungeons_. He’d seen the dungeons beneath Thorin’s Hall, restored only in the last decade, and this area seemed a bit airy and light to take on the name. There were certainly holding areas, though – he was still around the last turn when the first door slammed into place over Dwalin’s shouts in Khuzdul.

The elves weren’t gentle. They grabbed the dwarves by the shoulders, shoving hard, tripping them, keeping them too off-balance to properly fight back on the narrow walkways. When Dori and Ori were locked in together, Kíli felt a flash of hope. It was immediately dashed when the elf who had disarmed Fíli grabbed his right shoulder hard enough to lift the heavy boot on that side off the ground, and went up one of the other walkways. He tossed Kíli’s brother in the cell with more force than Kíli though necessary – and came away with Fíli’s last dagger. Kíli could well imagine the disgruntled expression on his brother’s face.

The she-elf locked Kíli in.

She grabbed him with no less force than the others, digging her fingers into the cloth at his shoulder and pushing him with an odd twist designed to make him stumble through the open cell door. He couldn’t help being a bit impressed; the elves were so _tall_ , it surprised him they knew how to engage a smaller, more solid enemy. _Annoy the elves,_ he thought, and looked guilelessly up into her fierce, sharp face. He knew one excellent way to annoy the lasses of both Dwarves and Men. Perhaps it worked on female Elves, as well.

“Don’t you want to search me?” he asked in the innocent tone he saved for getting out of the worst trouble. “I could have anything down my trousers.”

He’d caught her off-guard, he could see it. Her eyes widened a bit, her lips parted – but she wasn’t surprised for long. Her mouth curled into a strangely familiar smirk that made his heart skip a beat. 

“Or nothing,” she riposted with a startled sparkle in her eyes.

She slammed the door shut with a clang.


	8. Dungeons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the dungeons below Mirkwood, Kili finds a voice in the dark.

As dungeons went, Kíli decided, Mirkwood’s could be worse.

He didn’t have any real experience with staying in dungeons, of course, outside stories he’d heard around the campfire. Dwalin and Balin knew something of them, and Nori (to no one’s surprise). They’d told of damp, uncomfortable places that smelled of mildew and wet earth. Thranduil’s dungeons let in light, and though the cells were small, they were dry. No bedding was provided to the dwarves, but they were brought food. Real food, with meat, not the greens and leaves that they’d received in Rivendell.

They were also all kept fairly close together. Close enough, at least, to hear Dwalin, Fíli, and the sons of Gloin try to break the bars of their cells, to hear Ori’s squawk of indignation when he discovered Dori was injured and hadn’t told anyone, to make out the aimless tune Bofur sang to calm Bifur in their adjoining cells. 

Fíli took charge, something which sent a little jolt of pride through Kíli. His voice called each member of the company in turn, giving them a very rough idea of where they were in relation to each other. Gloin and Oin were in a cell together, as were Dori and Ori. Fíli was, as Kíli had seen, on a level above the rest of them. Nori’s voice also rang out alone, up and to the right. Kíli suspected they’d been especially successful at getting under the elves’ skin, and so they’d been dragged and tossed a bit further than the others. They were all in hearing distance, at least, save Thorin. 

Fíli also insisted on a recitation of injuries, even though their captors had to be listening. Amazingly, there was little beyond bumps and bruises. It sounded like the worst injury was a bad cut on Dori’s arm, but Ori felt confident he could handle it. 

Each time, Fíli called Kíli’s name last. There was an odd lilt to his voice that Kíli couldn’t quite place, though frustration seemed a big part of it. 

With everyone accounted for, they had no choice but to wait. Thorin had been taken to see the Elven King. Perhaps they could come to some kind of agreement. It wasn’t as if the dwarves had come into the wood to cause trouble. They’d _tried_ to follow the path, and given how fiercely the elves had fought the spiders, they couldn’t mind the ones the dwarves had killed. Thorin knew they needed to make haste to reach the mountain in time. He could be reasonable.

 

Or not. 

Kíli’ had never actually heard anyone say those words _out loud_ before.

 

Several restless days passed. The dwarves spent the first day talking back and forth, but when the elves ignored the shouted conversations, they petered out. The Company had been constant companions for almost three months now, by Kíli’s somewhat inaccurate reckoning. They’d shared stories and songs, bragged over past accomplishments, complained over conditions of the road, talked about family members sorely missed , and discussed every recipe that came to mind that _wasn’t_ for some form of camp stew. While revisiting old conversations wasn’t a burden when they were gathered in their bedrolls around a warming fire, light flickering over familiar faces as they filled their bellies with warm food fairly caught and cooked, Thranduil’s dungeons stole the words away. Gloin didn’t want to shout across the dungeon about his lovely wife when he might never see her again; Bombur didn’t boast of his excellent recipes when he couldn’t prove his prowess at a fire (and didn’t have their missing burglar to compare notes with); Dwalin didn’t tell grand stories of past battles when they had been captured by scrawny elven archers in the middle of the wood. Even Kíli and Bofur, both usually quick with a joke or comforting word, were silenced as the minutes became hours became days. 

Kíli had never cared for silence. He always sought to fill it, often to the annoyance of those around him. The only ones who never minded his need for noise were his mother and brother. If he was sharing a cell with Fíli, he would have whispered his way through the hours, drawing Fili out of the dark brooding he knew would be settling over his brother. If he couldn’t pester or jolly Fíli back to himself, he’d have fallen back on touch: cuffing his brother’s shoulder, leaning his weight heavily against Fíli’s stronger frame, resting his head on the elder’s shoulder (not as easy as it once was, since he had to slouch uncomfortably). He’d tease out smiles and chuckles, watch for a flash of dimples, and consider it a job well-done when he earned them. But something held him back from teasing Fíli from afar – Fíli’s voice, probably, taking over and taking stock when Thorin was pulled away. 

He hadn’t sounded like Fíli; he’d sounded like Fíli _and mor_ e, beyond the smirking, self-confident brother Kíli knew. Kíli didn’t know what to do for that Fíli, especially without the comfort of touch to fall back on. 

Kíli always knew how to help his brother. 

He hated feeling helpless.

 

Kíli didn’t know why he told the elf about his mother’s runestone. It had started as _annoy the elf_ – make her think it was cursed – but Kíli didn’t have the natural flair for sarcasm and satire his brother did. He immediately felt _bad_ when she stepped back, her eyes flaring momentarily with bewildered fear. 

Perhaps he was just reckless, as his mother said, though he didn’t think so.

He thought maybe it was the quiet. Far above them, the elves were singing and dancing – he tried to imagine their dances, all light steps and puffs of air instead of the steady beat of dwarven dancing. The merriment above only made the silence below more stifling. As far as he could tell, the rest of the company was sleeping when she came by, drawn away from whatever celebration the elves were throwing because of her duties. 

Seeing her there reminded him a bit of Fíli, after his coming of age. They’d celebrated the first heir’s full adulthood with proper pomp and circumstance, one of the first big celebrations in Thorin’s Hall. There’d been feasting and dancing such as hadn’t been seen in Kíli’s lifetime; so much that even his confident brother had been a bit overwhelmed by it all. He remembered Fíli sitting straight and still, his eyes a little wide, none of the usual easy grace in his hands. 

Kíli’d put a stop to _that_ by dragging Fíli out to dance. It was about time those lessons in court etiquette Thorin insisted on came in handy. 

After the party, Fíli’s life had changed. He’d still lived at home – he didn’t move out until Kíli’s coming of age, when more quarters were restored and available inside the mountain – but his time was no longer his own. Though he still trained daily, he’d been gradually drawn away from the forges to follow in Thorin’s footsteps. He still worked several days a week – princes of Durin were expected to know the skills of their people – but he lost the freedom to work on projects as he would, at all hours. New responsibilities were added while none of the former jobs were taken away. The first few months of his seventieth year Fíli had seemed permanently exhausted and a little bewildered; but of course, being Fíli, he’d adjusted. Within a couple of years he was himself again, if a very busy version of himself. So busy that nights out went from a certainty to a rarity, and instead of enjoying himself at their annual festivals Fíli had to be on alert, half prince and half guard. 

Seeing the elf, separated from her kin during a time of celebration so that she could see to her duty, made Kíli’s heart hurt a bit for his brother, curled up alone in a cell too far away. So he talked to her.

That she was a witty and attentive conversationalist came as a pleasant surprise.

A very pleasant surprise.

They spoke for over an hour, ranging from one topic to another. He told her of his days as a hired guard – merchants living in Erid Luin were willing to pay decent coin for fierce dwarven guards. Dwalin generally managed such groups, and had started taking Fíli along when he was still in his 50s. Kíli joined them a little younger and more often because his skill with the bow was more unusual than Fíli’s swords. The longest times they spent apart were when Kíli was on hire with Dwalin. Kíli was a good storyteller, and knew it – he had a pleasant voice, and enthusiastic presentation, and could add just enough to a story that it was perhaps more interesting than the event but not unbelievable. 

The elf told him of her role as captain of the guard, how she had risen quite high for one so young (he didn’t ask her age; he already felt ridiculously young among the Company already). Her name was _Tauriel_ , and he thought it suited her. It didn’t sound as soft as the elves of Rivendell, nor as sharp as Dwarven names. She told him that she had rarely left the Greenwood, as the elves still called it, and asked the sort of interested and intelligent questions every storyteller loves. She was easy to talk to, for an elf, with a sharp sense of humor.

After they compared stories with mother bears – hers ended somewhat more heroically than his, as he and his companions had been bathing when his appeared – she said slyly, “Perhaps your beards and furs confused her, and she thought you darling cubs in need of coddling.” She arched an eyebrow. “It would have been a sweet scene, indeed, had she caught you.”

Kíli grinned back, and it had been so long since he smiled like that. Before the Mirkwood, certainly, perhaps briefly at Beorn’s, when Bilbo was speaking of hedgehogs and barn cats and his brother and uncle were relaxed in the firelight. “Perhaps yours thought you all saplings, and she had an itch to scratch. The fact that you jumped around must have come as a shock. Trees don’t usually attack!”

She smiled with a flash of teeth – he wondered if she ever laughed, he’d like to hear it if so, and determined to try – and said, “Let me tell you a bit about our wood, Kíli,” with a mischievous glint in her too-old eyes.

Kíli leaned forward, wrapped his hands around the bars of his cell, and grinned up at her.

 

She did laugh, later. It was a soft little thing, almost rusty with disuse, but he felt a flash of pride for coaxing it out anyway.


	9. Lake-town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kili awakens on the shores of a lake, and his brother is nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, the story will not make sense if you haven't read the last four chapters of _Arrogance_. I did warn this is a companion fic! 
> 
> This chapter takes place after the events in Lake-town from Fili's point of view, when he has fled in the boat to Erebor and left an unconscious Kili in Tauriel's care.

Kíli awoke with a lurch, disoriented and heavy-headed.

Oin had _drugged_ him! Given him tea that was supposed to help build his strength and had instead knocked him out! He could still feel the herbs dragging at his limbs, making his thoughts sluggish and confused. He felt as if his body was swaying, hanging suspended in space, not-

He opened his eyes slowly.

_Tauriel?_

He turned his head slowly and realized that it wasn’t the tea making him feel unsteady. He was being carried, his cheek tucked against Tauriel’s sweet-smelling shoulder, his knees hooked over her arm. The scent was soothing, but felt wrong somehow. Too soft, no hint of smoke and clean sweat, no bite of metal or hint of cured leather. “What..?” he murmured, and then shifted. “What’s going on?” His voice sounded a bit slurred, but he felt his mind clearing. It was night. He could hear the lapping of soft waves on the shore of the lake.

“He’s awake!” piped up a little voice he recognized as Bard’s youngest. “Hello again, Master Dwarf.”

Kíli frowned and turned his face. Red hair drifted across his cheek as Tauriel smiled gently down at him. “Master Kíli,” she said warmly, though she didn’t stop moving. “It’s good to see you are awake. I was beginning to worry over you.”

“No need for that,” came Oin’s loud bellow. “I know what’s safe to give a Dwarf!”

Kíli’s eyes focused sluggishly in the low light, but he finally made out perhaps a dozen moving shapes. The smaller ones were Bard’s three children, and there was Oin’s trumpet and Bofur’s hat. Beyond them were Men, shoving and slipping across the icy shore as the party of Dwarves, elf, and children moved at a more sedate and careful pace.

“Fíli.” Kíli’s eyes widened. “Where is Fíli?”

“Lad,” Bofur said, and Kíli didn’t let him finish. He didn’t have to. Bofur’s kind voice said it all. 

_It’s about your brother._

_I want you to keep an eye on him._

Kíli kicked and twisted. “Where is Fíli?!” he demanded. He felt like a child; helpless, suspended in the air. “Where is my brother?!”

Tauriel’s arms tightened and she came to a stop. How did she carry him so effortlessly? “Kíli-”

“Put me _down_.” It came out sharper than he wanted, but he didn’t care. She did as he asked, with infinite care, as if he were made of the most delicate glass and might break at a moment’s notice. He wavered on his feet until her hands rested on his shoulders and steadied him from behind. “Where is Fíli? Bofur?”

Bofur reached up and slid off his hat, twisting the soft material in his hands. He couldn’t quite look Kíli in the eye. “He . . . he went across the lake,” he finally admitted. “To Erebor. To your uncle and the rest of the company.”

Kíli’s world tilted.

“Fíli . . . went across the lake?” he asked, dazed. It didn’t make sense. Fíli had stayed with him. Thorin had told Fíli to go, but his brother had stayed. Why would he leave now? What was he thinking? “Why?”

Bofur bit his lip and looked over Kíli’s head beseechingly. Kíli felt Tauriel’s hands shift on his shoulders, sliding along his back without ever letting go. She came around to face him and then knelt in the crackling sand. “Your brother felt the earth tremble,” she told him, and her eyes were ancient with knowledge. “He believes it is the dragon. He charged us with escaping Lake-town with Bard’s children, and any other Men who might join us.” 

Kíli felt very young, and very small, and very foolish. “Then he should be with us.”

Tauriel shook her head. “No. He chose to go to the mountain.”

“But,” Kíli stared at her. “But there’s a _dragon_ in the mountain.”

“Yes.” Steadily.

“A living dragon.”

“Yes. There was never any real cause to believe the dragon was dead. They can slumber for a century or more when they have feasted and found a hoard. Some say they feed off greed more than meat.”

Kíli almost heard Fíli’s voice in his head, _That would have been useful information a few months ago,_ dry and amused. But it wasn’t Fíli, because Fíli had left him. Fíli was somewhere on the lake, rowing to Thorin. 

Kíli turned his head to look over the wide expanse of water. He could see boats leaving Lake-town, but he couldn’t make one out in the middle of the lake. His brows drew together as he tried to make sense of this. 

He _knew_ Fíli. He knew his moods, his kindness, his confidence, his well-hidden insecurities, his strengths and weaknesses. Kíli hadn’t been truly surprised when his brother insisted on staying with him in Lake-town. He had known, even in his fever, that Fíli was beside him; had known that when the fever broke and he woke again, Fíli would be there. And yet . . . 

Something had upset Fíli. Something Kíli didn’t understand. 

_Are you asking me to braid your hair?_

The look on his face. Hurt. Betrayed. By . . . Kíli? Enough to throw himself at a dragon? Why?

“Kíli,” Bofur’s voice drew Kíli back to the present. Bofur stood beside Tauriel, his lips twitching with nerves. “If the dragon is awake in the mountain, we can’t stay here. Fíli was right – we should strike out toward Dale, but stick close to the lake. The best place to be in case of fire is on the water.”

Kíli took a deep breath; slow in, slow out, as he had when his mother first placed a bow in his hand and spoke in his ear about _breathing_ and _focus._

Then he straightened his shoulders and his spine, a hardness tightening the skin around his eyes. He still felt weak and knew he must be pale, but he was an heir of Erebor. He wouldn’t allow his charges to come to harm. “Then we keep moving,” he said, looking over his small Company: two dwarves, three children of Man, and an elf – no, two elves, the blond was here as well, though he had not noticed him until this moment. “Kíli,” he said to the he-elf, “Son of Vavi, nephew to Thorin Oakenshield.”

The elf looked surprised a moment, but Tauriel shot him a smile and said for him, “This is Prince Legolas, of the Greenwood.” She smirked. “He sometimes forgets what manners are.”

Legolas shot her a look, annoyed but fond, and Kíli ruthlessly shoved away images of his brother. Fíli wasn’t here. He had run off to the mountain for reasons Kíli didn’t understand. If he was going to survive to get an explanation out of his foolish brother, he would have to take see that they all remained alive, come what may.

“Let’s go,” he ordered, and strode forward over the slippery sand.

 

The dragon was magnificent.

But the destruction . . . was more than Kíli could fathom.

There were dozens of Men around him when the dragon burst out of the mountain. The Men began screaming and running, tripping over each other, shoving and crying. Kíli grabbed for the three children under his care – he shoved Tilda at Legolas, the older two to Tauriel, hoping the elves’ strength and height would save the children from being trampled. Bofur and Oin he drew close to himself, creating a solid wall that forced the panicking Men to run around instead of over. 

When the dragon spun in the air, everything stopped – the screaming, the shoving, the desperate scrambling – as the people of Lake-town stared open-mouthed at the glittering beast. Then something flew through the air, and shouts of pain erupted around them.

“Gold!” Bofur cried. “It’s covered in molten gold!”

“Get down!” Kíli yelled, falling face-first to the sand and dragging his dwarves down with him. “Cover your faces!”

A few Men listened, but most panicked again, redoubling their efforts, running away from the lake into the surrounding plain. Kíli wanted to yell at them to stop – all they were doing was drawing attention to themselves, you never run from a predator, they were transforming themselves into prey – but he gritted his teeth and choked on sand as he covered his head with his arms.

 

_I AM DEATH_

 

The screams took on a new intensity as Lake-town burned.

Kíli struggled to his feet, wincing when the elves finally grabbed his elbows and hauled him up. The dragon was sweeping in arcs overhead, his full focus on Lake-town. What had been shouts of fear became screams of grief and terror – names of loved ones, mothers and brothers and lovers who hadn’t run from the town at the urging of Mirkwood’s prince. 

Kíli wavered for a moment, then grabbed for Bard’s youngest, who was staring back at the town with stunned tears sliding down her face. “We keep moving,” he ordered his company. “We get as far from the town as we can.”

“Daddy,” the girl whispered over a sob.

Kíli tightened his grip around her wrist, and then wrapped an arm around her waist instead. “Your father might be following,” he told her, “and all he will want is for you to be safe.” For a moment, his own gaze flickered to the lake, which was studded now with boats, more pushing off from Lake-town’s docks. One was burning, the flames dancing in reflections across the water. 

_Fíli._

Kíli pushed forward, watching as Sigrid grabbed the boy and dragged him, as Bofur and Oin stuck close and protective to their sides, as the elves flanked the smaller dwarves and children defensively, even though they could have run to safety so much faster. He kept them so close to the water that gentle waves lapped at his boots and Tilda’s soft shoes. He would keep Bard’s children safe, for taking them in when they most needed a friend. For writhing on a table in Bard’s home while his uncle brought ruin upon Lake-town.

He didn’t look at the lake again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is written and will be posted tomorrow. :)


	10. Lakeside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili finally comes to a realization, with a (good) bit of help.

The sun was rising when Legolas stepped off of one of the boats with a deceptively small bundle in his arms.

“Tauriel,” came the prince’s exasperated voice, “I’ve found your missing Dwarf.” 

Kíli, who had been kneeling beside the fire with Tauriel, Sigrid, and several other women of Lake-town as the elf showed them how to mix the herbs others had been sent to gather, scrambled quickly to his feet. Legolas looked back impassively over the blanket-wrapped form he held cradled against his chest. So still. Too still. “He needs your healer, little prince,” he told Kíli flatly, “and soon.”

Kíli’s blood turned to ice.

 

Some ridiculous part of Kíli was heartbroken at the state of Fíli’s hair.

The left side of Fíli’s face was a mess of open blisters, deep pink and red, and the beard there was gone, melted into the skin. Off-white liquid oozed from his mottled ear, the blisters tracing along his jaw and surrounding his left eye – the lid was swollen shut and slightly warped. Around the damaged temple and ear the hair was now clipped quite close, very nearly shaved.

“I’ll do it,” Kíli had insisted when he saw the delicate knife in Oin’s hand and realized what he meant to do.

“Nay, laddie,” the older dwarf said with pity in his eyes, “not with your hands trembling like that.”

Were they trembling? Kíli stared down at his always steady hands, only to find them shaking against his knees. He hadn’t noticed.

In the end, Bofur did the actual cutting while Oin cleaned the wound with cold, boiled water mixed with alcohol and herbs to kill the pain. They'd meant to only trim the hair away, but in the end they had to scrape dead skin and what little beard remained away from the wound along Fili's jaw. Kíli was instructed to all but sit on his brother’s chest when Fíli started to struggle. Despite the herbal tea Tauriel had made and Oin had poured down Fíli’s throat, he was obviously in pain. Kíli gritted his teeth and pushed against those broad shoulders as his brother bucked and twisted in his sleep. He wasn’t as strong as Fíli at his best; now his entire body trembled with a bone-deep exhaustion that made every muscle sore. He bit hard on his lower lip when Fíli made his first sounds – low whimpers, pitiful moans – and forced back the tears that pressed at his eyes. He finally lay his chest on Fíli’s, holding his brother’s hands between them. He heard himself murmuring under his breath but didn’t know what he was saying. He hoped it sounded more comforting than terrified or angry. 

He pressed his forehead to his brother’s shaking shoulder and breathed a prayer into the rough wool.

\-----

A day passed.

Refugees trickled from Lake-town, and Kíli’s elves and healer were in constant demand for burn victims. The elf prince left at noon, swearing to return with more elven healers. Tauriel taught some of the Men what to look for and sent them out to gather supplies while the women cooked simple meals and boiled teas. Bard appeared, to the sobbing relief of his children, and told of the black arrow that brought Smaug’s death. Kíli helped start fires for fresh water and the boiling of bandages, showed the Men how to heat stones and wrap them around the feet of the wounded to protect against frostbite. But he would not stray far from Fíli’s side.

Fíli slept, soothed by elven magic and dwarven draughts.

Bofur tried to convince Kíli to sleep as well, but all he managed was a couple of quick naps stretched along his brother’s side. The prince finally turned Bofur’s own words against him, and the miner found a relatively quiet spot to curl up and catch a few hours’ sleep himself. Kíli kept an eye on him. Bofur was a better dwarf than Kíli had given him credit for; he had remained calm and steady since Kíli woke beside the lake, and proved fiercely protective of Bard’s children. Kíli couldn’t have asked for a better companion in those long hours, save the one sleeping at his side.

Tired and aching, Kíli sat cross-legged on his brother's right and toyed with the beads Fíli had given him as he lay unconscious in Tauriel’s arms.

There were seven of them, five blank and two carved with limited skill. Fíli, who did fine with runes or larger geometrical patterns, had clearly decided to try his hand at more delicate, nuanced designs. He’d failed fairly miserably, of course. Kíli’s brother lacked both the training and the patience for this kind of work, and he must have been doing the carving in purposeful secrecy on the road, which wouldn’t be the right conditions for practicing or learning the skill. Why he hadn't simply asked Kíli for help, as he had for two decades, Kíli couldn't fathom.

The beads clicked against each other as he rolled them in his palm, all mixed in with odd little strips of silver . . . something. Fabric? Weave?

There was no sound to herald Tauriel’s return. One moment, it was just Fíli, Kíli, and the myriad noises of their refugee camp on the lake’s edge, and the next she was folding her long legs to sit beside him. She reached out a hand and touched his palms with fingers that were much too soft for someone so fierce with a bow and short sword. “What do they mean?” she asked, her voice both gentle and curious.

Kíli sighed. “I don’t know,” he admitted, swallowing around the words. There was so much in Fíli’s mind now, so much he didn’t understand. Things his brother thought and brooded over, but never said. Kíli had never felt this distant from Fíli before. “He could have just made them for himself. Something to do on the road.” But he shook his head at this; that wasn’t right. Kíli was the one who fidgeted constantly and needed to keep his hands busy. Fíli entertained himself by watching people. He tended toward languid sprawls and lazy pulls on his pipe, not fidgeting hands. 

“Beads are usually made as gifts. You can make them for yourself, but . . .” he shrugged. Fíli liked bold, geometric designs when he used them at all. More often, he leaned toward rich, strong materials with relatively little ornamentation, like the fur-lined coat now lost somewhere in Thranduil’s hall. “Usually family members gift them so you don’t have to.”

“Has he made any for you before?”

Kíli hummed, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl of concentration. “Blanks. I do the carving myself.” He held one out to her. “He’s not very good at detail work.”

She took it from him. It was fairly large as beads went – the size of Thorin’s – but it looked more delicate in her long fingers. Her lips curved into a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She had told him elves didn’t need to sleep, but he thought she still looked exhausted, and sad. “So I see.” She narrowed her gaze and held it up closer to her nose. “It’s an arrow?” It came out as a question.

Kíli frowned. “It’s more likely to be daggers. Fíli’s not much for the bow.”

“No. It is definitely meant to be arrows. There are feathers.” She dropped the clasp lightly into his palm. He squinted down at it with a frown. “And these,” she brushed her fingers over the strange strips of silver weave, “are from Rivendell. I did not know your people were on such good terms with Elrond’s folk as to trade with them.”

Kíli barked a little laugh. It felt strange in his throat. “We’re not. Though we stayed in guest rooms there and not a dungeon, I don’t think they were heartbroken to see us go. We actually sneaked away in the middle of the night.” He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “Why would Fíli haul these across Arda? What are they for?”

Tauriel’s voice was almost amused. “They are to tie off braids. I imagine he thought they might help hold the beads in place.”

“His hair doesn’t-”

Tauriel actually huffed and rolled her eyes, in a manner not unlike Fíli when he thought Kíli was being especially obtuse. “They are not for your brother, Kíli.” She touched the hair on his shoulder, gently. “They are for you. He left them specifically for you before he fled, because he loves you.”

“Of course he loves me.” Such an obvious statement didn’t need saying. Fíli loved Kíli like breathing; Kíli felt the same. "He's my brother."

In a move totally at odds with her elven grace, Tauriel raised a hand and delivered a solid whack to the back of Kíli’s messy head.

Kíli yelped and stared at her in shock.

“Kíli,” she said, and laughter mixed in that musical voice with an odd sort of sorrow, “your brother is _in love with you._ I imagine he has been for quite a long time.”

“That’s-” Kíli’s voice caught. “But he’s-” he looked down at that familiar face, made unfamiliar with blisters and bandages. 

Tauriel laid her hand over his, covering the beads. “When your brother left, he made me swear to keep you safe. He was fierce and protective – as if he had trusted his very heart to my keeping.” Her eyes were so old as she looked at him then that Kíli shifted unconsciously away before he caught himself. “In your delirium, you asked if,” her voice caught and stumbled, and she was suddenly young again, “you asked if I might love you.” A faint blush rose in her cheeks and Kíli felt a matching warmth in his own, though he didn’t recall the words. His only memory of those fever-driven minutes were of her face, of a shining light and elven words, of Fíli’s hair brushing his cheeks and forehead as he burned. “The answer was – is – yes. With time, it is possible. But you already hold someone’s heart in your hands.” She wrapped her other hand around his and gave a squeeze. “And I am not so sure yours is free to give either.”

Kíli stared at the elf without truly seeing her. “Fíli? But he’s never – he never – he’s always-”

She offered him a faint smile and drew her hands away, folding them in her lap. “Love is not as common as it once was for my people, but I know enough to see the signs. He has loved you for quite a long time. Perhaps so long that you didn’t even know to look for it.”

Kíli ran a hand over his face.

_Fíli._

He had never considered it. He hadn’t thought of Fíli as his – _One._ He was Fíli. Kíli’s brother, his confidant, his chuckling, smirking, fierce, protective anchor in a world filled with uncertainty. But surely to find your _One_ was something different and shocking and new, not unlike making friends with an elf while held deep in her dungeons. 

_I’m talking about Fíli’s heart, Kíli. Only you can keep that safe._

_He’s been thinking about something. Something important._

_No one’s ever looked at me like Fíli looks at you, or trusted me like Fíli trusts you._

_Kíli! Take my hand!_

_Are you asking me to braid your hair?_

_No. No. Kíli._

_Perhaps so long that you didn’t know to look for it._

His hand stopped over his mouth as his breath hitched. 

_Fíli._

His eyes finally focused on Tauriel. Graceful, smirking, fierce, protective Tauriel. 

“Oh,” he said. And then, “I’m-” _sorry,_ but how do you say that? _I’m sorry you’re like Fíli. I’m sorry I could have loved you if you’d never told me, but now that I know it’s like everything inside me just shifted into place and I’ve been in pieces for years but I never knew because he was always_ there.

She smiled at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. We have only known each other for a few days.” She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. “I believe we will be great friends, you and I, Kíli.”

And she smiled gently at him until he smiled back – a wild thing, with teeth and bubbling adoration and fond annoyance and _Fíli._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue to this story is the last chapter of _Arrogance_.
> 
> Thank you for coming along on this ride with me! There's a good chance of at least an epilogue or possibly another story about what happens in Erebor (I'd like to play around with my ideas about how things will change when a group of dwarves were in Lake-town and saw the destruction first-hand before TaBA comes out - with added Durincest and injured Fili).

**Author's Note:**

> For too many dwarves and ramblings about fic development, behold: 
> 
> [tumblr](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Blanket Permission Statement](http://dragonsquill.tumblr.com/permission)


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